Entwines of Red and Gold
by esotericdragonfly
Summary: Life is cruel. But it doesn't have to stay that way. When a young man is in a terrible situation, he never realised that the thing he needed most was what he has been running from his whole life. (Destiel AU)
1. Introduction

? ? ?:

The rain tinkled on the metal shutter of the closed store front. He sat in the dark, shivering steadily as he listened to the incessant droplets. It was cold. God, was it ever not cold? He shuffled in his frayed sleeping bag, attempting to attain a more comfortable position on the harsh concrete ground. With his head tucked tightly within the damp confines of his sleeping bag, he was unaware of the darkest clouds that crept ever closer; the rain was yet to intensify.

Dean:

The engine roared. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, the leather of his gloves squeaking against its coating. He could feel the wind rush through his hair, the longest strands dancing with the element. The radio suddenly blared 'Heat of the Moment', a common and unwelcome occurrence in situations like these. As if on cue, the edges of his dream began to fade away while consciousness grabbed him, and Dean Winchester reached with an unsteady hand towards his alarm clock to slam it off. He stretched, pushing his head further into the fluffy confines of his favourite pillow, before sludging out of bed with a groan to get washed and prepare for yet another day at work...

When he stepped outside of his apartment block, the crisp November air brushed at his face. Dean pulled the collar of his green military jacket closer to his neck to block out the chill and continued on his regular path to the garage. He stumbled as his foot landed in a small pothole in the pavement, "-Oh for God's sake", he muttered, noting how his shoe and the rim of his trouser leg were now wet from the water gathered in the fault. He passed the regular shops, which by this time were beginning to raise their shutters to welcome the public, absently noticing a homeless man laying in front of an abandoned store to his left. Ten minutes later he arrived at work and shook off his coat as he came through the door. "Mornin' Bobby," Dean called over his shoulder as he swapped his coat for the blue boiler suit in his locker.

A burly but kind-featured man appeared around the door of an office, "Winchester, you're late. Again." Bobby came out of the office and handed Dean one of the two cups of coffee in his hands.

Dean took the hot drink with a small 'thanks' and joked, "But am i really late if i come in time for my coffee?"

"Yes," came the blunt response.

"Okayyy...straight to work then," Dean figured as he stepped into his uniform.

"Yeah. Good idea. Fitzgerald has left his car in for a full service, so you can start with tha-"

''Is that the Pontiac Aztec? Man, that car's a piece of shit!'' Dean complained.

"Well it's a piece of shit that you'll be workin' your butt off to make a functioning piece of shit, so get to work!" With a clap to his shoulder, Dean turned around and walked towards his challenge of the day: somehow make his idea of a vehicle abomination be able to pass an inspection. He's gonna need something a lot stronger than coffee.

The hours spent on the car rolled by quickly. They always did in the garage. Once the hood was opened, Dean was in his element and the world continued without him. That is, until a particular customer arrived to pick up their Pontiac. "Garth, i'm tryin' to concentrate here! Think into yourself for God's sake!", he called from beneath the car.

"Aw i'm sorry, buddy! You are doing a great job by the way. Real good." Replied Garth, who was thoroughly enjoying a comic at the back of the day's paper. "How long's this gonna be? I got places to be, you know, people who want to see me," he said with a chuckle.

Dean sighed to compose himself and pushed himself out from underneath the car. "Done. Go see Bobby in the office, he'll work out the price."

"No problem, Deano!" He pulled Dean in for a tight hug, Dean noticeably stiffening, "Really appreciate you doing this!"

Dean awkwardly patted Garth's back as if to tell him to please release him, and breathed a slight sigh of relief when he was free. After changing out of his uniform and rubbing the smudges of oil off his face with a grubby cloth, Dean grabbed the rest of his things and left for the day. _'Man, I'm starving'_ , Dean thought to himself. Fixing that car had really worked up his appetite. _'Pizza? Nah... Burger and fries? Nah...Chinese? Hell yeah'_. He took out his phone and messaged Sam:

 _"Hey Sammy. Want to grab a bite?"_

A reply came several minutes later:

 _"Sure. Your place or mine?"_

 _"Mine. I'm thinking Chinese"_

 _"Nice. I'll be round in 20."_

With that, he zipped up his coat against the drizzling rain and headed to his apartment...

"Hey Dean", shouted Sam as he opened the door of Dean's apartment and wiped his wet feet on the mat.

"Hey," Dean called, his head appearing from behind the door of the fridge as he pulled out two chilled beers. "How've you been?"

"Yeah, great. Jess says hi too, she's meeting Claire tonight", Sam replied, taking one of the beers and cracking it open before taking a sip.

"Claire, huh? What's she like?" he smirked.

"Really nice. Great taste in books, likes classical music, vegan-"

"-you can stop right there", Dean interrupted, causing his brother to laugh. He walked towards the door behind him into his small living room and sat down on the sofa where there was a definite dip in the cushion.

"You know, if you just got out more you could actually meet someone. You can't sit in here all your life."

"I-"

"And before you say anything, a night in with beer and Busty Asian Beauties doesn't count," Sam concluded.

Dean sighed and settled deeper into the sofa, "Whatever, let's just order this already, i'll fade away to nothing if I don't have something in my stomach in the next half hour."

The two brothers ate and talked for several more hours and decided they should call it a night. After saying goodbye to Sam, Dean brushed his teeth and pulled off his clothes before flopping onto his bed, pulling the cool duvet around him.


	2. Chapter 1

After slamming off his alarm, Dean cracked his eyes open to the sight of the sun winking through the curtains. He raised his arms above his head, stretching out his sleep-leaden limbs and groaned as he got out of bed. 20 minutes later, he rushed down the stairs of the apartment block, his mouth full with his last bite of toast. Bobby's words echoed in his ears, "Winchester, you're late. Again." He chuckled and started jogging.

After mending a couple of vehicles, Dean was finally let out for his lunch hour. It had stayed dry since this morning, which he noted with content. He crossed the road to a small diner and walked inside, the bell atop the door tinkling, and made his way to his favourite seat by the window. A minute later, an attractive waitress came to his table to take his order, "Hi, Dean! The usual?"

He looked up at her with a smile, "You know me so well, Kate."

"No problem, I'll bring that over as soon as I can," Kate replied as she hit the tip of her pen on her notepad. She turned on her heel and headed towards the kitchen, the blonde waves in her pony tail swinging over her shoulder as she did so. _'Damn_ '. One little glance at her ass wouldn't hurt anyone...

He sat patiently for his food, drumming a light beat on the edge of the table with his thumbs. The street was quite busy today; Cars drove passed with a soft zoom and people walked by, snippets of their conversation barely audible through the window. Once the group of 4 women with half a dozen bags of shopping between them cleared, a homeless man in a torn navy blue sleeping bag could be seen lying on the ground. He seemed to be asleep.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his plate being set in front of him, "Here you are, enjoy!" His stomach grumbled at the sight of the food and he suddenly became aware of how hungry he was. All thoughts of the homeless man left as he picked up several salty fries and graciously shoved them into his mouth.

He decided to stay in work til late that day. He didn't mind, it was his day off tomorrow anyway. It was getting dark by the time he left, but the street lamps shone to light his way home. He buried his hands deep into his pockets and felt a few cold coins which he decided to drop into the sleeping homeless man's empty coffee cup as he passed. He didn't really need them.

? ? ?:

He woke with a slight jump to the sound of several coins clattering into his cup. With bleary eyes, he looked up at the back of a tall figure, an orange hue reflecting off their coat from the light over head. He reached out of his sleeping bag with an unsteady hand towards the old cup and looked inside to see what he had collected that day. 60 cents. He sighed and set the cup back down. Maybe he'll get more tomorrow.

When he woke the street was still quiet. It must have been around 5 in the morning, as the sun was glowing almost shyly. There was a harsh nip in the air- December was on its way, creeping ever closer like a stealthy cat waiting to pounce, the reality of which caused fear among every homeless man alike. He unzipped his sleeping bag and crawled out. Immediately the goose bumps over his body tightened, so he decided to quickly roll up his "bed" and stuff it, along with his money cup, dead cell phone and newspapers, into his back pack.

There was a public toilet nearby, maybe 15 minutes away, where he would clean most mornings. He couldn't clean on a Thursday- that was when Cain was in town. He had only had the misfortune of meeting Cain twice, but he was in no means eager to do it again. Almost everyone on the streets knew his name- he was the one people avoided, the one who had a terrible temper and an even worse reputation. By picking up strands of whispers, he had learnt that Cain had finished time in prison, time which he spent for an account of murder. The only murder the authorities knew about, that is. But today was Saturday, so he could walk around town without having to look over his shoulder every ten minutes. That didn't stop people looking over their shoulder at him though.

The constant stares were something he had grown accustomed to from his time on the streets. whether it was a pitying look or a disgusted glance, he had experienced it all. He cant blame them though. If he saw himself, he'd probably do the same.

He approached the public toilet to find it was currently occupied, but there was a bench a few yards in front where he could wait. He sat down with a soft thud and turned his head to look at a baby lying awake in her pram with a warm smile. He raised his hand and gave her a small wave with his fingers, making her giggle. The baby's mother glanced into the pram and chuckled before looking up at the source of her child's amusement. Her wide smile faltered as she looked at the scruffy man. She cleared her throat slightly with a forced laugh and stood up, wheeling the baby away.

He turned around grimly to the public toilet, which now had an open door, and made his way inside. He looked into the heavily graffitied mirror and stared into the eyes looking back at him. They were dull, tired eyes. The eyes of a man who had felt real pain. The eyes of a man who had given up. The reflection became a blur as he squinted, fighting back the tears which threatened to fall. He looked away in haste and bent over to wash his face in the sink. Ten minutes later, he headed back to his usual place to sit for another eternity.

He was lost in his own thoughts when suddenly his shoulder clipped with something tall and solid-

 _'Ooph'_

"Oh, sorry", said the man quickly over his shoulder as his eyes stayed focussed on his phone. He continued on and the homeless man watched his back for several seconds as he walked away. Was he the man from last night? His coat looks familiar.

Dean:

He looked down at his phone, scrolling through the list of cars available. He bumped into someone and absently apologised over his shoulder. He looked back down at the photo on his screen: A '67 Chevrolet Impala. His dream car. Dean had never wanted to own something so much in his life, but where was he supposed to get $20000 from? Yeah, he had a decent job, but he was hardly raking in the cash. He stuffed his phone back in his pocket, and called into the local shop to buy some food for the next week. On his way back, he dropped his change into the cup of the homeless man, who gave him a small smile as a sign of appreciation.

For the next 2 weeks, Dean regularly dropped his spare change into the disintegrating coffee cup. He didn't think much of it, it had just sort of become a habit as he walked to work. It was as if the cup was a tiny trash can and the money was random pieces of rubbish in his pocket- stuff he didn't need and would even be glad to get rid of.

On the 14th November, he came through the door of a busy cafe and was instantly greeted with the buzz of several dozen voices. He stepped up to the end of the queue and eagerly scanned his eyes across the menu board high on the wall. The bell above the door tinkled and another customer arrived. The queue moved slowly, and several more people had arrived by the time Dean was nearly at the front. One of the waiters was in a hushed conversation with two elderly women several metres away, and they kept glancing over in his direction. He suddenly became very self-aware and felt uncomfortable under the elderly women's glares. He was distracted by 2 hesitant taps on his shoulder, and turned around to see a thin looking man with slightly greasy brown hair, which appeared to have been recently brushed, but had random sections sticking out at odd angles. The man's skin had a sickly hue, perhaps from months of built-in dirt, or from his obvious exhaustion which was reflected in his tired blue eyes. He looked up at Dean and opened and closed his dry and cracked lips as if he was thinking of what to say.

He finally spoke, "Um- hi- uh... you won't know me but you- you've put a lot of money in my cup recently and I- I just want to thank you now that I've seen you... I'm buying a full lunch today, I've been saving up your money so... thanks." He smiled at Dean shyly.

Dean chuckled, "You don't need to thank me, man. Seriously, it's nothing. I'm glad it's helped you out a bit," the lady at the checkout called him forward to take his order, "Oh, well -uh- I'm getting this to go so I'll see you around." He walked up to the waitress and began to order a grilled chicken and bacon sandwich when the waiter who was talking to the elderly women started coming over. He walked to the person behind Dean.

"Excuse me, I'm sorry but I'm going to have to ask you to leave." The waiter stood defiantly in front of the dishevelled man. Dean stopped giving his order and turned to listen in.

"W-what?" the homeless man stammered.

"We have received several complaints from our customers, so I have no choice but to ask you to leave this restaurant."

At this, Dean could feel himself getting angry, "Hey-", the waiter turned around, "yeah you. He's a paying customer just like the rest of us, why the hell are you throwing him out?!"

"No- it's fine- I can g-", the man piped.

"No! You're gonna stay and enjoy your meal!" By this stage, many customers had stopped their conversation and were watching intently.

The waiter puffed his chest, "Sir, I'm sorry but this man's offensive smell is putting our customers off their food so I have to ask him to leave!" The homeless man's ears burned crimson and his cheeks grew flushed.

"I'm not having this. Come on." Dean placed his hand on the man's shoulder to turn him around and stormed out of the cafe. "Stupid prick. Stupid old ladies. Stupid-"

"You didn't have to do that, they were right."

"What?!" Dean stopped in his tracks. "No, that dude was an asshole is what's right, and everyone else in that cafe. Come with me, i know a diner where we'll eat."

The rest of the journey was spent in silence, with Dean always two steps in front. He walked into the diner and held the door so the homeless man could walk in behind him. Kate came over to Dean, "Hi Dean, same toda- oh, hello...", Kate said politely when she noticed the other man standing behind Dean.

"Look, we're just here for a bite to eat, I'm not in the mood for any fuss."

Kate simply nodded and then gave a small smile, "If you take a seat, I'll be right over with the menus."

They both walked over to a table in the back corner of the restaurant and took a seat. "What's your name?"

The homeless man looked up at Dean, "uh...Jimmy. My name's Jimmy." His eyes flicked to the left.

Dean nodded once and repeated the name, "Well, I'm Dean. Dean Winchester. Sorry about all that in the cafe."

"It's fine, not the first time", he laughed awkwardly, "thanks by the way, but i didn't want to bring you into it. I should have realised- it's a nice place, some dirty tramp would never be welcome."

"Well that's their fault, not yours." They sat in silence for a minute after Kate brought them the menus and took their orders, "So how long've you been on the streets?... sorry, I shouldn't have asked that just- just ignore me." Dean apologised as he scratched the back of his head.

"It's alright, really! And about 11 months so far."

"Jeez, dude, that sucks."

"Yeah, well... that's life. Suckish."

The pair talked for another hour while they ate their food. Dean learnt that Jimmy was 28 and an only child. He had joined the navy in '05 aged 25 and was now just another veteran with no place to call home. He didn't have much else to say, especially not about his childhood, so Dean didn't press. After paying for both their meals and saying goodbye to Jimmy, Dean had to excuse himself. Bobby would not be pleased at him showing up an hour late from his lunch break.

? ? ?:

As he walked at a slow pace back to his concrete slab, he thought over all the events that day. _'How could you be so stupid? Walking into some nice cafe with the state that you're in! God, what an idiot. I suppose it worked out okay in the end... Dean was nice. Probably one of the first normal people to talk to me since I was kicked out. Can't tell him that though. Just go with the veteran story. It seems reasonable enough, right? Just don't get too close and you won't slip up. Come on, Cas, just don't slip up. He can never know'_.

In the days following the incident at the cafe, Dean continued to drop his spare change into Cas' cup on his way to work. They rarely spoke, but they looked at each other and nodded when Dean passed. Roughly a week later, as Dean was on his way back to work after his lunch hour, he came over to Cas with something in his hand.

"Hey, Jimmy... Here's a- uh- chicken salad sandwich if you want it. I thought you might have needed it," Dean held the sandwich out to Cas who just looked at it. "Yeah I know, I hate salad too, sorry about that, it's all they had though."

"Thanks. But you don't need to keep giving me stuff, you'll need the money yourself, it's Christmas in a few weeks," Cas outstretched his arm and took the sandwich before adding, "and I'm not a charity, Dean."

Dean smiled as Cas took the sandwich but it fell as he continued to speak, "Oh, I'm sorry man, I- look I just thought I'd help you out, i didn't mean to offend you or anything." He put his other hand back into his pocket now that it was empty.

Guilt pulled at Cas' stomach, "No no I didn't mean it like that, I'm sorry! I really appreciate this, thank you."

They parted ways and it was a few days until they bumped into each other again.

"Hello again," said Cas, looking up at Dean who was walking towards him with a bag in hand.

"Look, Jimmy, I know you said that I didn't need to give you anything, but please, it's the least I can do." Dean held out the bag which contained another sandwich and a bag of salt and vinegar crisps.

"It's not as if I've done anything, all I do is sit here and sleep."

"Of course you've done something! You're a veteran! You deserve a bit of respect, just think of a sandwich as my way of saying thanks."

Was this wrong? Accepting praise from a man for something he didn't do? Especially for something as valiant as fighting for your country? He couldn't be further from a veteran if he tried! But Dean believes him. He has to keep it that way.

For the next number of weeks, Dean met with Cas a couple of times a week when he got out of work. Most days when Dean came, he would sit down beside Cas and they would both eat lunch. Cas loved hearing all about Dean, what he liked and didn't like, his dream car (a '67 Chevy Impala), and his little brother Sam. He found it sweet how Dean's eyes would brighten in a conversation about his brother, and how he radiated waves of pride when he talked about him. It was almost cute how enthusiastic Dean would get when they got onto a conversation about cars- he would tell Cas all about different models and what was the best type around, and Cas would just nod along, not knowing what on earth Dean was talking about, but enjoying being in a conversation with someone nonetheless.

But then Dean would stop and ask a question in return.

That was what Cas always wanted to avoid.

Questions meant answering. Revealing a fact. Exploring his past.

And that was where his monsters lay.


End file.
